Profiles in Black: Distance Kill
by CelticPhantom
Summary: For all assassins there was a code of killing. A code written to keep a man sane as he did something unthinkable. It was because of this code that Reno could drop the plate that day.


**Distance kill**

**A/N: **Just sort of came to me as I was reading another fic. If you want to know where it came from check out What Colour Do You Bleed? By Sylverskyz. It's a great fic you'll enjoy trust me would I lie XD

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Final Fantasy VII or Reno or the Turks or a decommissioned nuclear missile base but I can tell you that I wish I did own each and every one of them. But I don't...it makes me cry at night.

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It was so easy.

It's one of the first things that you learn as a Turk.

One of the first things that they teach you.

It's why we dropped the plate. It couldn't have been done any other way. Nobody would have come away from the slaughter with a mind intact.

It's why I could drop the plate and never look back. Why no matter how much the knowledge that I killed them hits me it will never hit me as hard as it should.

Proximity is the bane of all Turks. The further away from your target you are the easier the kill is. I've had to kill in all sorts of ways. There's only one I remember vividly, the only time I'd ever killed a man up close.

It was a knife that I used.

I didn't understand the rules back then. I thought they were trying to protect me from failing. It turns out they were to keep the conscience of a killer nice and squeaky clean.

Anyway he was the mayor of some backwoods little hellhole that suddenly felt they didn't like the yoke of ShinRa.

I had to be sure it was silent and there was no trace that the Turks were involved.

Young and inexperienced I decided that getting up close with a knife would prove just how skilled I was.

So I did.

I made my way into the tiny cottage that still seemed like a mansion compared to the other dwellings. I waited ever so patiently for my target to arrive. When he entered he released a tired sigh and immediately pulled his tie loose.

I waited for him to settle in and get comfortable. Once I was sure he was nice and content I slinked out of the shadows, weapon at the ready.

It didn't go as I'd hoped.

To this day I still don't know how but he knew I was there, maybe a reflection in some surface.

As I approached he whirled around and grabbed my wrist in an attempt to wrestle the knife from my grip.

We fought back and forth for a short time but I was a trained killer and he was just a politician. I wrenched my arm from his grasp and plunged it into his stomach. Immediately he seemed to lose all energy.

The fire in his eyes as he fought for his life dimmed to a simple look of confusion. I don't know if it was because he was dying or because he couldn't figure how he deserved such a fate.

It was that look that I see every time my mind isn't focussed on anything.

The look of another human being scared out of his mind, giving way to fear and confusion.

I dug the blade in deeper and twisted it to be sure the wound was fatal. I could feel it as he died, I can still feel it. Every little jerk, the warm blood seeping on to my hand, the convulsions as his body gave out.

Sometimes when I'm setting up another kill I can still hear a ghost of the whimpers he made as he died.

From that day forward I took the training as God's wrote.

The further a man is from his kill the easier it is.

A knife is the hardest. You have to live with the kill forever.

A gun is easier. It's quick and clean.

A rifle is preferred. The face is a distant blur and the blood is just a squirt.

Bombs are the best. You don't even have to be there.

That's why I could drop the plate as easily as ordering another drink. I didn't have to see my targets, didn't even have to admit they existed.

That's why they teach us to kill the way they do. It's one thing to line someone up in a rifle and then just walk away clean as a whistle. It's quite another stick a man with a blade and see the terror in his eyes even as they dim, feel the subtle twitches and shudders as the body gives up life.

And so ShinaRa came up with a way to kill so many and make sure their expensively trained killer wouldn't stay awake at night with all the faces of the dead haunting him.

So as I stood there that day I felt nothing. There were no faces of scared and confused people as the light in their eyes was snuffed out. No sounds, no blood.

Easy.

I set the timer and my work was done.

Somewhere deep in my mind I heard the dying mayors whimper.

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**A/N**: So there we go my first every serious Turk or rather Reno fic. I hope you all enjoyed. Please review and tell me if you liked this because it was sort of a trial thing. If I find enough people liked it I might go ahead and make a Turk fic with a bit of a darker tone and much less pink paintballs.

p.s.: I seems this sisn't my first serious Reno fic at all. I've no idea how that could have slipped my mind but it did. Well I guess if you liked this go ahead and check out One Last Job...don't let that discourage you from reviewing though I need those things to live

...I told myself I wouldn't beg for them anymore but they do honestly brighten my day something fierce regardless.


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